


Loose Threads

by Mek



Series: Shadowsverse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Lydia Martin, Blood Magic, Canon compliant up until the last few minutes of 3.24, Character Death Fix, Derek Hale & Kira Yukimura Friendship, Derek Hale is a good Beta, Hurt/Comfort, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pack Feels, Pre-Derek Hale/Stiles, Resurrection, Scott McCall is a Good Alpha, Spoilers for 3b, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mek/pseuds/Mek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a month after they finally put down the nogitsune when Stiles turns to Lydia and asks, "How far are you on figuring out how to resurrect Allison?"  Because Stiles now knows the difference between Lydia-the-human-being and Lydia-the-goddess-he-put-on-a-pedestal, he doesn't buy the arched eyebrow and biting comment she deflects with. "Yeah, well," he replies, "if you hit a brick wall or something, I've got some ideas."  It's a week later when Lydia shows up at his locker before lunch and tells him that after school he's coming over to her house. Oh, and so help her, he's going to tell her every last thought he has on how to bring Allison back, or else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loose Threads

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [she has dirt all over her pink dress](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1346899) by [celle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celle/pseuds/celle). 



> Originally I figured "Loose Threads" was going to be around 2k. Oops. :) Words cannot express how grateful I am to have both Notsodarling and Anndie not only as beta readers but also just really freaking awesome people in my life. Especially since they both put up with my "zomfg let me tell you a thing." Needless to say this fic would be so much less without them. <3

It's a month after they finally put down the nogitsune when Stiles turns to Lydia and asks, "How far are you on figuring out how to resurrect Allison?" Because Stiles now knows the difference between Lydia-the-human-being and Lydia-the-goddess-he-put-on-a-pedestal, he doesn't buy the arched eyebrow and biting comment she deflects with. "Yeah, well," he replies, "if you hit a brick wall or something, I've got some ideas."

It's a week later when Lydia shows up at his locker before lunch and tells him that after school he's coming over to her house. Oh, and so help her, he's going to tell her every last thought he has on how to bring Allison back, or else. Stiles spends the rest of the day alternating between taking notes and organizing what's been bouncing around in his head. By the end of last period he's jittery as hell with anticipation, and is more than a little relieved when he manages to avoid Scott, who would no doubt call him out on how he's acting. The relief doesn't last long though. Scott is waiting for them in Lydia’s driveway, looking extremely unhappy. Stiles swallows thickly and doesn't have time to angst much more than that because Lydia's already out of her car and walking towards Scott. There's no way Stiles is going to let them throw down with each other without being there to support…well…both of them. Because he's deeply conflicted like that.

“I swear, I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Scott rushes before Stiles or Lydia can speak, "but I overheard what Lydia said, and I hate that you feel like you need to do this, but... but I also understand why.”

"Are you going to try and stop us?" Lydia demands, voice sharp and challenging. Scott looks at her for a few moments before turning his attention to Stiles and locks their eyes. Stiles stares right back, unflinching. He tries to convey _please_ and _I need to do this_. Maybe it works because Scott's shoulders slump right before he shakes his head _no_.

"Just…after everything that's happened, please be careful, _please_. I can't lose you two," Scott begs, looking so very young and terrified. The plea sets Stiles into motion needing to touch and hug as much as he knows Scott needs to be touched and be hugged. Scott may be their Alpha, but he is and will always be Stiles' best friend first and foremost and Scott is so close to breaking. And maybe Stiles is too. Because when Lydia slips her way underneath their arms, presses herself to their sides and they all cling to each other Stiles suddenly feels fragile in a way he hasn't since his mom died. Then Lydia whispers, "I miss her all the time" and Scott chokes out "Me too," and the three of them shatter together in a mess of trembling and sobs.

"This will work. We'll get her back," Stiles says vehemently, holding on to Scott and Lydia for dear life, and ignoring the tears streaming down his face.

Stiles and Lydia don't make much headway on the ritual that night, but they do set the foundation for how these after school meet ups are going to go. The three of them congregate (usually at Lydia's) and while Lydia and Stiles work on the ritual, Scott works on his homework and makes sure they remember to do things like eat and sleep. Scott doesn't understand most of what they're doing and he’s cool with leaving the research to Stiles and Lydia, but every now and then he'll ask a question, his face drawn tight and concerned. Stiles gets it, understands that Scott's there to keep an eye on them, to make sure that they don't do anything well and truly stupid.

Then there's the afternoons when Scott doesn't join them, and that's when Stiles and Lydia trip down the darker magical paths like blood magic just to cover all of their bases. Those are the afternoons that turn into nights that get so late and the air so tense that Lydia pulls Stiles into her bed, curls up against him and tells him to sleep. And the well and truly crazy part is that he does.

"So you and Lydia…" Kira says with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. Stiles chokes on his water and it's his force of will that keeps him from doing a spit take all over Derek's couch. It's just him, Derek, and Kira in the loft prepping for the weekly pack meeting and he feels like he's been ambushed.

"It's not like that," he sputters and watches in horror as Kira and Derek share _a look_.

"Yeah, uh huh. You've been spending a bunch of time together," Kira singsongs and pokes him in the ribs for good measure.

"Plus you reek of each other," Derek adds dryly and what the shit.

"Oh my _God,"_ Stiles blurts. "When the hell did you two join evil forces?"

"Born supernaturals gotta stick together, yo," Kira tells him, double thumps her right fit on her chest over her heart and then throws out a peace sign. Derek just smirks and eyerolls when Stiles looks to him for confirmation.

And if that wasn't bad enough, there's the morning Stiles swings by his house before school so he can change clothes. The cruiser isn't sitting out front but his dad is sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper and drinking coffee. Which, ya know, _what the fucking fuck_.

"Mornin' son," Dad says as Stiles tries to creep towards the stairs even though he just noisily banged his way into the house.

"Oh, hey Dad! Sorry, I forgot my econ homework when I left for school earlier and I need to grab it real quick and then head out," he says like a lying liar who lies.

"Earlier, huh?" is the reply he gets and all though it's a simple question, the weight his dad gives it means Stiles is way busted.

"Yep!" Stiles calls out and rushes up stairs and tries to change in the estimated amount of time it would take for him to grab homework because he's nothing if not committed to his lies, thank you very much. And okay, maybe it takes three times as long to toss on some semi fresh clothes before he's rushing back down the stairs, but Dad's got the newspaper in front of him so he shouldn't notice. Right? Right. Stiles winces and comes to a stop on the landing. Jesus Christ, he's a horrible son. That thought gives life to yet another boulder of guilt that sits heavy in his stomach and weighs down his limbs. It prevents him from bounding down the stairs and out the door. Rather it forces him to slowly thump the rest of the way down with feet that may as well be made of lead.

"Care you spare your old man five minutes?" his dad calls out and Stiles ducks his head and clenches his fists when he hits the last step.

"Yeah, sure thing, Dad. What's up?" Stiles says as he enters the kitchen, for some reason feigning innocence. It is possible he's too committed to his lies. Dad folds his paper neatly, sets it aside, and then gestures to the chair across from him. Stiles dutifully sinks into it.

Dad studies him for a few moments. Stiles knows what he's doing: letting the tension build in hopes that Stiles will crack under the pressure but knowing better than to hold his breath. "I know you weren't at Scott's last night so don't even try that one," Dad finally says. He doesn't exactly sound angry, just tired. "There was a domestic call on 13th and Maple around 4am."

Stiles’ shoulders slump while his left leg starts to bounce with nerves and a dash more guilt. If his dad had gone to the scene straight from the station he would have gone right past Lydia's and seen Roscoe parked in the driveway. "Dad, I--"

"Now, let me say my peace, alright? Maybe before everything that's happened I would have had a problem with you spending the night at Lydia's house, but now…look I'm just glad you got something good going as long as you guys are being safe, which knowing both of you, I don't think that's a problem. So from now on just let me know when you are staying over at Lydia's so I don't worry, okay? And let her know that she's welcome here, too."

Stiles is rendered jaw slack and wide eyed, with nausea rolling in his stomach. Jesus Fucking Christ when did his world get so utterly and completely fucked up that dating Lydia Martin has inadvertently become a cover for trying to resurrect the dead? Because as much as Stiles hates lying, there's no way he can tell his dad the truth on this one until it's over. So Stiles finally nods and snaps his mouth shut so hard and fast his teeth click. "Yeah, sure thing. Uh, thanks for ya know, being understanding and all…"

Dad just reaches across the table and claps him on the shoulder, beaming with misplaced pride and acceptance, and sends Stiles on his way.

The next time Stiles and Lydia crawl into bed together he tells her, "I love you but I'm not in love with you," his treacherous fucking mouth and voice working without his brain’s consent. Lydia tenses for a beat and then burrows more tightly against him.

"I'm still in love with Jackson," she whispers into his chest sounding so defeated and broken that Stiles just holds her tighter. It's only when her shoulders start to shake and he feels a wet spot on his shirt that he realizes she's crying.

"Have you been in touch with him since he left?" Stiles asks gently, part of him marveling at the absence of heartache in his chest.

"No," Lydia sobs like the word is confession of something big and horrible that there's no redemption for.

"Hey…hey," Stiles soothes as he rearranges them so they're lying on their sides, facing each other. He threads his fingers through her soft strawberry blonde hair and swipes his thumb from the corner of her eye to her temple, collecting a stray tear along the way. "Things have been really fucking crazy, alright? But tell you what, once we get Allison back, drop him a line, ya know? And, like, I'm gonna nag the fuck out of you until you do, so just prepare yourself to face down the Stilinski Family Stubbornness."

Lydia laughs at his threat and the sound may be broken but it's still beautiful. She raises her hand to cup his face and looks at him intently with eyes still glittering with tears. Then she leans forward and places a chaste kiss on his lips. The touch is briefly but long enough for him to sink into it and remember just how touch starved he is, even with the more hands on approach to friendship and pack that he, Scott, and Lydia have been taking.

"Things would be easier if I were in love with you," she confesses and now it's Stiles turn to laugh. He places a kiss on her forehead, because Christ isn't that the truth. The thing is though, there are so many broken pieces within him leftover from what happened with the nogitsune, and new pieces that he's still having trouble figuring out how they fit together, that really, Stiles isn't even remotely in a place where he could actually be in love with someone. Not even Lydia.

Shocker of shocks, it turns out trying to construct a resurrection spell is a complicated ordeal and it takes a month and a half for Stiles and Lydia to agree on a ritual that they are almost completely sure will work. Stiles would feel better with another set of eyes on it, but truth be told, there's no one to turn to. So, with Scott voicing some misgivings, Lydia and Stiles move forward and pay a visit to Chris. Lydia raps loudly on the apartment door and Stiles stands there a bundle of nerves as they wait. He really isn't surprised that there's no sound of footsteps and no shuffle from the apartment before the door is jerked open as far as the security chain will allow.

"What do you want," Chris demands, his voice rough like he's just woken up or just crawled out of a bottle. Maybe both.

"We know how to resurrect Allison," Lydia states and she's barely done speaking when the door slams shut so hard and fast that Stiles jumps back a step.

"What the hell was that? That was not part of the plan!" He hisses.

"Stiles, we didn't have a plan," Lydia chides.

"Yeah, but if we did, that so would not have been in it," Stiles snaps. Lydia just holds up her index finger in the universal sign for 'shut the fuck up and wait a minute.'

Finally after what seems like forever there's the thunk of several locks being thrown and the hiss of metal sliding on metal. Then the door opens and reveals a dark apartment that's seen better days. Nothing you would call Health and Human Services on, it's just clearly a place that was once a home left to rot under the horror of loss. Frankly, Chris doesn't look much better. His clothing is wrinkled, his eyes are bloodshot, and he's rocking a full, unkempt, salt and pepper beard. He leads them into the apartment, flicking on a few lights until they reach the living room. Chris drops down heavily on the sofa and Lydia doesn't make a move to sit so Stiles doesn't either.

"What do you need?" Chris finally asks, voice breaking.

"First, we need her body exhumed and then to be granted custody of it." Stiles says. See, this part they have rehearsed.

Lydia hands Chris a manila folder full of forms and instructions. "This contains everything you should need," she explains, "including a cover story that you wish to move her to the family crypt in France to honor her. Also a stone cutter has already been contracted to replace the old Argent family code with the new one."

Chris' gaze narrows on Lydia. "How do you know about the family crypt and how did you get the authority or the money to change the inscription?"

"I have my sources and the money is from one of your offshore accounts," Lydia replies and smiles tightly. Stiles isn't gonna lie, the look Chris levels at Lydia is glorious. It's like for the first time he's really seeing the brutal, efficient, elegance that is Lydia Martin. Stiles wants to laugh at the idea of Lydia having sources, because really there's only one: Danny. That conversation had been easier than expected once they found out that Danny’s been in the know about Beacon Hill's supernatural activity for a while.

"Alright, what else?" Chris asks carefully, as he sets the folder aside. He's definitely more present than he was a moment ago.

"Around eight to ten pints of familial blood," Lydia replies.

"Sacrifice my life for hers," Chris says and nods solemnly like that's a reasonable trade.

"Oh my God, stop" Stiles blurts. "Gerard. We were thinking more along the lines of Gerard."

Chris' shifts his gaze to Stiles, who forces himself not to squirm under the weight of it. "You're certain that will work?" Chris demands.

Stiles nods his head emphatically as Lydia snaps, "Of course."

"Gerard has gone to ground since the last time I paid him a visit," Chris tells them, which isn’t really news. Once they’d decided on Gerard, Scott and Stiles had gone to do some surveillance only to find that he'd been long gone.

"Right," Stiles says, "and you really think he's gonna lay low while somebody extreme makeovers the Argent crypt?" Lydia hums in agreement to emphasize his point, which causes Chris to look between them a few times, gaze ticking left and right, before down to the folder of information.

"Is that all?" Chris asks.

"Of course not, but it's all we need from you," Lydia replies.

"Well. You've given me quite a lot to think about. Now if you'll excuse me," Chris says, stands, and literally ushers them out by walking to the front door and opening it for them. Stiles huffs out an irritated breath and reaches for Lydia to coax her forward but she dodges his hand. Instead, she storms right up to Chris and stares him down, never mind the fact that he's got a good foot and some change on her.

"We're doing this with or without you," she bites out. "Just ask yourself: how would you feel if you say no and something happens to us while we do what you wouldn't." Lydia tears out of the apartment with her high heels angrily clicking against the tiled floor and Stiles follows in her wake, not even bothering to look at Chris as he passes.

Lydia thinks the whole thing was a resounding success. Stiles isn't so sure and figures that's that regarding Chris helping them. Until a few hours later when he's home alone, and somebody starts pounding on the front door. Stiles yanks it open to a wall of pissed off Derek Hale. Except for the whole using the font door thing, it's a flashback to when they first met because Derek crowds into his personal space, backs him up until he hits a wall, and then jabs a finger into Stiles' face.

"You're going to show me everything you have on the resurrection ritual along with every scrap of supporting documentation," Derek orders.

Stiles licks his lips and lets himself bask for a moment in the heat and anger rolling off of Derek's body before he nods shakily. "It's ah, it's all up in my room," Stiles tells him. Derek backs off and shoves Stiles towards the stairs. Once they're in his room, Stiles tosses a stack of three hole punched paper held together with copper brads at Derek, suddenly furious and trying to stomp down the nervousness prickling at the back of his mind.

"That's the ritual, and all this shit that looks like a library took a dump in my room? That's your _supporting documents_." Stiles sneers the last bit and gestures wide with his arms. Derek just levels him with his bitch face, grabs a pen off Stiles' desk, sits down in the middle of the floor, and starts reading. Stiles'll be damned if he sticks around for this shit so he goes back downstairs, blasts Cops and sulks on the couch.

He's pretty much in the same position when Derek comes down at two in the morning. Stiles ignores him and mouths along to _Bad Boys_ , until Derek blocks his view of the TV holding the now battered copy of the ritual Stiles had flung at him. He still wants to be angry, still wants to act like a dick, but Derek looks so fucking exhausted and raw that he just can't. Instead he grabs the remote, hits the power button, and drops them into the silence and still that only two AM to four AM can achieve.

"Verdict?" Stiles asks.

Derek lobs the ritual onto the coffee table and it skids until it hits Stiles’ feet propped up on the edge. "You're going to explain to me everything I have underlined. In detail."

Stiles grabs the stack of paper and starts flipping through it. "Dude, that's a fuck ton of underlining. We're gonna be here all night." Derek just raises his eyebrows like he's asking if Stiles has a point. Sighing and shaking his head, Stiles flips back to the second page. "Fine, but you're buying me breakfast after we're done," he says before launching into why they need so much familial blood and why they only need that when most spells also require a heart.

When they're done the sun has risen and the birds are chirping away with a song that Stiles is pretty sure just "fuck you" repeated in different birdy languages and dialects. The thing is though, if he's honest with himself, playing twenty million questions with Derek has actually been weirdly enjoyable. Derek pushed him hard and a lot of his points were either valid or highlighted a misunderstanding that could have had the whole thing going south. Added bonus? Derek does take him out for breakfast. After they've settled into a booth at the diner downtown and put in their orders Derek finally says, "I think it'll work."

"But?" Stiles asks because it sounds like there should be one.

"This is more of a summoning than a spell. I'm worried you don't have enough in there that binds the magic to her body," Derek says, eyes fixed in the middle distance as though he's remembering something and… _oh_. Stiles is struck with a thought. Well, a question really.

"How do you know so much about this shit?"

Derek turns his head away and looks slightly guilty. "My mother had a library."

When Derek doesn't elaborate, Stiles leans forward, smirks mischievously, and makes an educated guess. "An off limits library that you totally snuck into."

"Once or twice," Derek says and in response to Stiles' dubious expression he tacks on, "a week."

The confession has Stiles grinning in a way he hasn't for a very long time. And maybe if his breath catches a bit when Derek meets his eyes and smiles a little, well, Stiles isn't going to think too much about that. Instead he goes for the easy smart-ass reply. "Derek Hale: bookworm delinquent. Feels like you've been holding out on me, big guy."

Derek just shakes his head, expression soft and it twists in Stiles' gut. These little moments are things he'd never in a million years thought he'd be sharing with Derek freaking Hale and the more he collects, the more he wants. The moment doesn't last long though before it slips away and Derek's expression hardens to something more familiar.

"Chris came by the loft. Told me what you and Lydia have been up to."

Stiles nods, reaches for a straw wrapper and begins to twist it around his fingers. "I figured it was something like that."

"He asked me to go with him and Isaac. Was even gracious enough to tell me that I could be the one to kill Gerard and get revenge for my family if I wanted to." The way Derek's expression pulls tight and bitter punches the air out of Stiles’ lungs. Jesus fucking Christ this is the last thing Stiles wanted but he should have known.

"I…" Stiles begins because he feels like he needs to apologize. The problem is he's not sure if he should apologize for not giving Derek first right of refusal on Gerard's life or for the fact that Derek's been dragged into this clusterfuck of theirs. Stiles closes his eyes for a moment and taps the water glass he's holding. When he opens his eyes, Derek is looking at him patiently with eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry," Stiles finally says and hopes Derek will understand.

Derek nods once in acknowledgement. "I'm worried you're going to have to be saying that a lot more by the time this is all said and done. Does Scott know?"

"Yeah," Stiles confirms and slumps down a bit further in his seat. "He's not thrilled, but he understands why we're doing it. And he's been making sure Lydia and I don't go too far off the rails"

"Alright," Derek says, the word sounding like it's weighed down with a decision.

"Alright?" Stiles parrots and twists the end into a question. Derek ignores him though, pulls out his phone, unlocks it, types out a quick message and then sets it back down again.

"I just let Chris know I'm in. If nothing else, somebody needs to make sure he doesn't get himself killed," Derek says with a shrug and wow. Just holy fucking wow, how times have changed. The enormity of the moment shocks a laugh out of Stiles and Derek cocks his head to the side, not in question but more like he gets the joke. That's when, with surprisingly good timing, their food arrives. They're about halfway through eating when Derek's phone buzzes. He rolls his eyes when he checks it.

"What’s up?" Stiles asks.

"Chris has got a lead and wants to leave within the hour."

Nervousness tinged with panic slams through Stiles' body making his muscles coil with tension and the food in his mouth taste like ash. Just…holy fuck. It's really happening. Stiles forces himself to chew and swallow, and just hopes he doesn't retch it up later when he inevitably has a panic attack. "Well," he begins and has to clear his throat and try again. "Well, you better get going then. Dad gets off his shift in an hour and the station's only a few blocks from here. I can get a ride back home with him."

Derek shotguns the last of his coffee then drops his napkin on his plate. It takes him a second to dig out his wallet but pulls out some cash that he tosses on the table. It's enough to cover both their bills and tip.

"Derek," Stiles says as Derek stands and pulls on his leather jacket.

"Yeah?"

Stiles places his hands flat on the table, his fingers tapping the surface with the same nervous energy that's making him feel like he wants to crawl out of his skin. He knows he has Derek's full attention, but he just can't bring himself to meet Derek’s eyes. "Just…be careful dude, alright? Tracking down Gerard for one ritual is enough of a pain in the ass. I don't want to have to track down Peter's bitch ass for a second one," he finally says.

Derek huffs out what might be a laugh and places a warm hand on Stiles' shoulder. "You're an idiot," Derek says fondly and that's the last thing Stiles hears from him for two and a half God-awful weeks. And even then, he doesn't hear from Derek directly. Rather it's a phone call around 3pm on a Sunday from Lydia. She tells him that Derek and Chris just landed at Sacramento and to get ready because they're doing the ritual tonight. Stiles hangs up and makes a mental note to grill Chris later and find out how the fuck they got the blood past the TSA.

Stiles drives out to the preserve but rather than taking the main road that bisects the forest like normal he keeps to the county routes that skirt it's border until he reaches the access road that most people probably never even noticed. Honestly, calling it a road is way generous. It's barely wide enough for Roscoe and there might have been gravel once, but now it's just deeply rutted dirt with vegetation that whisk Roscoe's undercarriage.

He pulls up next to the vet clinic's pickup truck and parks. Thank god Scott was able to borrow it rather than have to schlep everything out in Lydia's sports car. Hopefully if both Chris and Derek show up they'll do so together because there's really only room for one more vehicle. Stiles grabs his backpack that's loaded with supplies and zips up his hoodie all the way. He and Lydia had gone round and round regarding the necessity of fancy robes or going bare ass naked but in the end they'd settled for warmth and comfort.

Stiles walks just far enough into the woods that he can't see the vehicles any more when he freezes for no good reason. Well, not _no_ reason, he reminds himself. Derek's been training their pack, riding them hard about being more aware of their surroundings and listening to their instincts. And right now? Stiles’ instincts are telling him that he's being watched.

"Very funny, Scotty," Stiles tells the trees, masking his uncertainty with sass.

"Dude, good job," Scott says from directly behind Stiles and Stiles flails his limbs wildly. Like, literally the only thing that prevents him from eating dirt is Scott grabbing a tight hold on his arm. Stiles would be grateful for the help except the asshole known as his best friend has the nerve to chuckle.

"Oh, sure, laugh at the poor handicapped human."

"Stiles, you're not handicapped," Scott says, sounding exasperated and fond all at once.

"Yes I am!" Stiles insists. "Like, golf and bowling handicapped. Only there's no possible way to assign me, the human, the points needed to level the playing field with you, the supernatural beast."

"You got your bat," Scott says.

"The bat only fills a small percentage of the gulf between us," Stiles replies.

"Sarcasm?" Scott offers.

Stiles sighs dramatically. "As much as I am loath to say it: pebbles in the ocean, dude. Pebbles in the ocean."

Scott laughs and claps Stiles on the back. "C'm on. The clearing's this way," Scott says and starts walking a few degrees to the left of where Stiles had been headed.

"See! Case in freaking point!" Stiles crows, throwing his hands up and almost throwing of his balance again.

By the time they reach the ritual site the sun has almost completely set and the world is wrapped in a strange blue-grey twilight. If the amount of set up is anything to go by, Lydia and Scott have beaten him there by quite awhile. But that's okay. His job wasn't to wrap Allison's body in long strips of fine linen that have been soaking in a tincture since the last full moon. Nor was it his job to build and light the four anchor fires that sit close to the shallow trough that encircles the ritual space.   Rather, Stiles' job is to write out the runes in the dirt for the protection barrier and that is going to take forever. To say Stiles and Lydia were thorough in designing this ritual is an understatement. It takes over an hour and a half of Stiles kneeling in the dirt, bent over, holding his notebook in his left hand and scrawling with the brittle chalk in his right. He is just finishing up when something tugs at his senses. Stiles looks up to see Derek and Chris moving silently through the woods towards them.

"They're here," he tells Scott and Lydia, probably unnecessarily, as he stands up and then bats at the knees of his jeans to get rid of the dirt he's managed to collect. As they get closer, Stiles can see that Chris is clean-shaven and has cut along his cheek that's been sutured shut. Derek on the other hand is a hard read. That is, until his eyes meet Stiles and suddenly Stiles can make out the exhaustion and tension that are playing tug of war in his body. They come to a stop in front of Stiles and when Chris holds out the cooler without a word, Stiles takes it.

"Where's Isaac?" Stiles asks.

"He’s staying in France for the time being," Chris replies. Stiles looks to Scott to get a read on how to react. Scott meets his eyes and nods with a definite air of 'all's well' so Stiles just shrugs.

"Thank you, we can take it from here," Lydia says, dismissing Chris and Derek.

"I think not," Chris replies and Stiles can't really blame him.

Lydia hums like she really hadn't expected any other answer before she puts them to work.

Stiles goes over to the felled tree they've been using as a makeshift workbench and cracks the cooler open. In it is a length of narrow clear tubing and by Stiles' count, twenty-one medical pouches full of what Stiles assumes is Gerard's blood. Jesus fucking Christ. Stiles swallows thickly and suppresses the shiver down his spine as the first wave of light-headedness hits. He forces himself to grab the tubing, place one end into the silver pitcher and make an educated guess as to how to connect the other end with a blood bag and hey, he gets it right on the first try. The bag begins to empty into the pitcher and Stiles tries not to cringe at the almost fairy like tinkling sound it makes. When he sways Scott's suddenly there, steadying Stiles with a hand pressed between his shoulder blades and another curling around his wrist.

"There any reasons why I can't do this?" Scott asks and Stiles shakes his head no and gladly hands the half emptied bag over.

"Nope, all yours." Stiles steps back to allow Scott to take his place.

He scans the clearing, restless. They agreed that Lydia should be the one to do the ritual on the grounds she hasn't been possessed recently, and quite frankly Stiles is on board with that. Even though he's been ignoring it there's just something that still feels different about him. Not bad, necessarily, just different. Like if he stares at shadows for too long he can see them curl and undulate like a living thing or how every now and then he sees a tight thread of black out of the corner of his eye but when he turns there's nothing there. It's all a bit too Japanese horror flick for his liking so he's been dutifully ignoring it. Which, given recent events probably isn't his best idea ever...

"Everything alright?" Derek asks quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

"We're really doing this aren't we?" Stiles murmurs as he watches Chris kneel beside Allison's body.

"It's a little late to have second thoughts," Derek replies, but there's no bite to his words.

"Good thing I ain't got none of those then," Stiles says and tosses back his most cheeky grin.

"We're ready," Lydia says as she takes the silver pitcher from Scott. They all step back out of the circle so that Lydia can begin, which is when the insanity of just what they are doing slams into Stiles.

Holy Jesus fucking Christ tap-dancing on a cracker.

They are really doing this.

They are really resurrecting the freaking dead.

Stiles lets out a shaky breath and lets Scott’s presence to his left and Derek’s to his right ground him while he focuses on Lydia. He's gone through the motions a million times in his mind: the knife work, the words Lydia chants, the steps she takes, to the precise moments she breathes. Every action she makes is choreographed to the steady thump-thump of a dearly missed heartbeat. The runes that Stiles drew in the dirt suddenly start to glow and the air sizzles with magic as the barrier goes up and the sacred space blossoms to life. Stiles inhales sharply as something dark and thick flickers to life along the edge of the circle now edged with mountain ash but then vanishes before he can focus on it. He squints at the edge but then Scott's gripping his hand tightly and Stiles turns his attention back to Lydia. She's now pouring Gerard's blood out over Allison's bandaged wrapped body laying on the ground, white cloth turning deep red.

As the last drip spills from the pitcher, the air shifts, pressing down on and wrapping around them like a living thing, building and growing bigger and bigger as Lydia continues to chant and Jesus fucking Christ something is _wrong_. But Lydia continues to chant and the magic continues to build and electrify the air and tugging at Stiles deep in his chest. Stiles can feel it dancing up and down his nerves crawling under his skin like there's something trapped trying to break free and then everything just clicks.

Reds, greens, and yellows fade to greys, deep blues and violets as the world shifts into hyper focus.

And Stiles can see everything.

"You were right," he whispers because Jesus fuck, Derek was right: there wasn't enough binding in the ritual. Above Allison's body there're pieces of magic floating in the air. Pieces that shimmer and whisper in a language Stiles does not know, but understands. The pieces are life, they are breath, they are fight, they are force of will, they are kindness, they are love. These pieces are all pieces of Allison that slip into the flesh and bone only to pop right back out again.

And Stiles can see everything.

For the first time he can look directly at the dark threads that until now he's only been able to peek at in his peripheral vision. He sees them in Lydia, tight and beautifully knotted and braided, binding her together making her whole while the threads of Allison are loose and floating free in the wind.

And Stiles knows what he needs to do. He walks forward with certainty and breaches the protection barrier he helped design and build. The magic feels like ants marching up and down his skin and electricity crackles in his chest as he pushes forward until he's finally _finally_ through. Far away Stiles can hear first Derek, then Scott, and then Chris yelling his name but it's so hard to hear. Because now that he's in the ritual space he can hear and feel the near deafening thump-thump that pulses every time Allison's threads touch. She's trying, trying so hard to come back to them, and they were so close to being right.

"Lydia," Stiles says calmly as he walks towards her. She opens her eyes a sliver and then snaps them wide and her attention to Stiles.

"No," she whispers in horror as she meets his gaze and begins to shake.

"Lydia, let me," he says and reaches out for her to help guide her from the circle. Because Stiles knows that to do what needs to be done, he needs this space they've created to be his and his alone. Lydia jerks away though, takes a few halting steps backwards before something hardens in her expression.

And then Lydia screams, violent reds and keen pinks pouring out of her mouth lighting up the clearing in Stiles' altered vision. As long as sound pours out of her mouth, so does the flood of color until some of the pieces of Allison rush towards Lydia. They wrap around her like a cozy blanket while Allison's loose threads gently entwine with Lydia's tight latticework until her mouth is still gaping open but there is no sound. In that moment, Stiles thinks he finally understands the power of Lydia's scream. It's not just to clear her head, it's to act as a beacon for anyone or thing that needs to be heard.

Lydia slowly closes her mouth and begins to nod, the motion halting. "It's okay. It's okay. Shadows are good. It's okay," she begins to chant like the words aren't her own, voice broken and tears rolling down her cheeks. Finally she starts walking backwards right out of the circle. The second she's past the barrier Derek is there wolfed out and snarling as he pushes Lydia behind him, putting himself between her and the ritual. His blue eyes blaze in Stiles' shadow wrapped world and there are deep inky violet threads from him that whip out towards Stiles, only to bounce off the barrier.

Stiles offers up a shaky smile and casts a look to Scott, who isn't wolfed out but his eyes are blazing red. "It'll be alright, I promise." Stiles says before he turn his back on them. With Lydia no longer chanting and tapped out from the ritual circle the pieces of Allison are starting to drift away and Stiles is glad he memorized the incantation. As he repeats the words over and over again he reaches out his arms crooks his fingers. He walks slowly around Allison's body, reaching up and out picking up the loose threads. As they touch the shadows curling off of his skin, the threads knot together in intricate twists and loops, strong and lovely.

He steps and plants each foot on either side of Allison's hips and just stands there for a few moment, letting the shadows and magic build and knit until it's so thick within him he feel like he might black out and that's when Stiles drops to his knees.   He shoves the mass of life and magic into Allison's chest. Beneath his hands Stiles feels the space under the strips of cloth fill and crackle with flesh remade and he watches the blood seep under the bandages, returning them back to white.   Stiles feels like he might go delirious with the wondrous steady _thump-thump_ pulsing from the body below him. And in that perfect moment when he feels the last thread knot and bind Allison together is the same moment her back arches and she throws Stiles to the side. That's when the pounding of her heart that’s gotten so loud is muted with Allison's ragged second first breath.

It's like that precious impossible inhalation is the only reason the magic has been sticking around. The barrier and the circle creating the ritual space drop. The rush of departing magic leaves Stiles giddy and pulls a laugh out of him. He begins to roll onto his back but is jerked to his feet and manhandled towards the nearest tree, his feet barely making contact with the ground. Before Stiles’ face makes contact with bark, he's spun around and Derek is inches away from him, furious and gripping Stiles’ throat. The inky violet threads Stiles had seen coming off of Derek earlier now race across the small space between them and Stiles watches in awe as they're met half way with threads that curl off of his own body. They slowly start to twist and lace together, but he doesn't have time to think about what it might mean because Derek slams him against the tree again, his claws pricking at the skin of Stiles' neck and from the way it stings, blood has been drawn. Panic grips Stiles' chest and throat and reaches up and digs his fingers into Derek's forearm.

"I don't know who or what the fuck you are but this is your one chance to leave his body. _Now_ ," Derek growls.

"What the _fuck_ , Derek, this is me. I swear to God it's-" Stiles tries to tell him but Derek snarls in his face and slams him against the tree again.

There's a shuffle behind them and then, "Derek, stop, it's okay. It's okay." Stiles' legs go weak because holy shit that's Allison's voice coming from Allison's body and Jesus fucking Christ they really did it. Allison is standing right there with Chris and Lydia supporting her on either side, most of her body still covered in the almost painfully white bandages. She lets go of Lydia and reaches out a trembling arm so that she can rest her hand on Derek's forearm just above where Stiles is clinging.

"It's okay," Allison, beautiful alive, incredible, Allison, says again. "It's really Stiles. His shadows aren't bad. His shadows are good. It's okay." Derek doesn't withdraw immediately but when he does he jerks his hand away and takes several stumbling steps back. Without being supported any longer Stiles slides down the tree trunk, bark catching on his shirt and his hair and scraping his skin.

Just as Stiles’ ass hits the dirt Allison and Scott tumble after, Scott landing heavily next to him on his right and Allison practically collapsing into Stiles’ lap. She’s sitting sideways and brings her arms up to hug Stiles tightly, while Scott gathers her legs in his arms and turns to press his forehead into Stiles’ shoulder. Lydia then drops to the ground in the ‘V’ of Scott’s outstretched legs and then curls over Allison’s and against Scott’s chest.

Stiles swallows hard and shudders as he wraps his arms around Allison, skin tingling wherever he comes into contact with the now tightly woven threads binding together the pieces of her that had been floating free but now made whole.

“You can see them too. The threads and shadows,” Stiles whispers to her, voice ragged.

“Not anymore,” Allison replies and then she pulls back, raises the hand that’s not being gripped by Lydia and cups Stiles cheek, the touch intimate in a way they’ve never been before. “But I could and they are beautiful,” she says, eyes watery and smile small. Stiles lets out a pained noise and tips his head so that his forehead to rest on her shoulder. He doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve Allison’s kindness or forgiveness, not after everything he did when he was possessed by the nogitsune. Not after having played a role in killing her.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sobs, “I’m so fucking sorry,” he repeats over and over again until the words become a meaningless mantra. Allison and Scott just burrow against him tighter and then there’s warmth all along his left side and a strong hand cupping the nape of his neck. The touch is like a jolt of electricity causing Stiles to jerk up and snap his gaze left. There is Derek, looking worse for wear, but sure and steady. Stiles frees his left hand from the tangle of Allison’s hair and brings it up to the hand Derek is cupping the back of his neck with. He laces their fingers together and lets their clasped hands drop down to rest on Derek’s thigh. As he does so the reds, yellows, and greens finally spill back into the world and the threads fade from view.

“Welcome to the party?” Stiles offers weakly, voice cracking, and for some reason, as lame as the joke is, it elicits a chuckle from Scott and a small smile from Derek. Allison shifts then, turning around just enough so that she can reach a hand out to Chris who has been standing vigil over them. Stiles takes the opportunity to fold his legs into a loose Indian style underneath Allison’s body.

“Come on, Dad,” Allison says and beckons him towards them. Chris’ eyes widen for a moment and then he steps forward, takes her hand and lets himself be pulled to sit on the ground just in front of Stiles.

They did it. He can’t believe it. They really fucking brought Allison back. Stiles shudders again, closes his eyes, and just breathes, soaking warmth from his pack. It isn't until the crickets that have been silent since the first bit of magic manifested begin chirping again that Stiles even begins to think about moving. Which is about the same time a cell phone starts blaring nasally vocalsbacked by an oompah band. " _This is a song for your pregnant kitty…."_

"Really Scott?" Allison laughs and Stiles has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking out into a fit of giggles, as Scott wriggles around trying to get to his phone and answer it.

"Yeah, ah… yeah that was us…. what were we doing?" Scott winces, his entire face scrunching up while the cuddle pile shifts and tightens around him in support. "Bringing Allison back from the dead?" Scott says it like a question before Chris reaches across Allison and Lydia so he can pluck the phone out of Scott's hand.

"Deaton, this is Argent…yes, I knew…correct…. of course… understood…we will…see you soon." Chris hangs up and hand Scott his cell back. Stiles wriggles a little, trying to burrow deeper into the warmth and comfort he's so desperately been needing, even though he knows their time is up.

"We should get going," Derek says softly.

"Whe---where to?" Stiles asks, voice cracking.

Chris sighs deeply and then stands. As he reaches a hand down to Allison, he says, "Deaton wants all of us to pay a visit to the clinic. Especially those who executed the ritual."

"Wonderful," Lydia says, rolling her eyes, which is normal but there's something off in her voice. Stiles turns his head and tries to catch her eyes as she starts to untangle herself but she avoids looking at him. He swallows thickly and tries not to put too much meaning behind it. It takes some twisting and shifting before where everyone is standing. Both Scott and Derek to help drag Stiles up, his body stiff and crashing as the adrenaline wears off.

It takes more time than Stiles thought it would to pack up the remnants of the ritual and toss the earth enough so that it doesn't look like there's a bloody outline of a body. By the time all is said and done, a deep ache has worked its way into Stiles' bones and he's beyond exhausted and dreading the forthcoming conversations with Deaton and then his dad. Yeah, there isn't any way that this isn't going to suck, but they knew that going in. Just like he's known ever since that morning in the kitchen that telling his dad what he's actually been doing with Lydia is going to be his very own personal hell. But nothing is going to compare to the way his dad is going to look at him, deeply disappointed and resigned to the fact that his son has proven once again that he's a horrible son that can't be trusted.

"Keys," Derek orders and Stiles looks at him blankly for a moment and holy shit, they're back at the access road. "Give me the keys to the Jeep, Stiles. There's no way in hell you're driving."

"Right, fine, sure," Stiles says, sounding out of it even to his own ears. He digs the keys to Roscoe out of his pocket and tosses them at Derek. Lydia and Scott rode together and he's pretty sure Derek came with Chris, but now Chris has Allison…who’s no longer wearing the bloody bandages and has changed into a comfy pair of sweats. Huh. "When did Allison change?" Stiles asks as he climbs into the passenger side of Roscoe and almost hisses as the ache in his joints lashes out and digs deep into his muscles.

"While you were staring off into the distance," Derek replies, his voice bland with a hint of tension that Stiles chooses to ignore. The drive to the clinic is long and winding and Stiles feels each bump in the road keenly. He curls in on himself and presses his head to the window, letting the hum of the engine and the strobe of streetlights hypnotize him into a daze. Stiles is unbelievably thankful when they finally arrive at the clinic but Christ, he doesn't want to move.

"Stiles," Derek calls his name gently and then there's a warm weight on his shoulder and suddenly the ache deep in Stiles’ bones seeps away leaving behind a heady-- Stiles jerks fully awake and shrugs off Derek's touch even though there's a large part of him that doesn't want to. "Dude, I'm fine," Stiles says. Derek lets his hand drop but otherwise doesn't move away. He just stares at Stiles' neck, no doubt at the marks he left.

"We should go in--" Stiles begins awkwardly.

"Your eyes went black and there were shadows curling off you," Derek begins and then looks away. "I thought…"

"It's fine. I'm alright," Stiles says with less certainty than he'd like.

Of course Derek picks up on that and does the mother of all eye rolls. "Forgive me for being less than convinced."

Stiles reaches out and grabs Derek's closest wrist, gently tugs it towards him and then laces their fingers together. He tries to ignore the black lines that instantly streak up Derek's forearm and the way the pain that's close to being overwhelming ebbs. Derek looks down at their clasped hands like it's a riddle he's never seen before and Stiles' eyes widen with realization and guilt. Over the last month he, Scott, and Lydia have become so much closer and more tactile but, more like a real _pack_ , but neither Derek nor Kira nor Isaac have been part of that and they had to have known it was going on. After all, Derek said it himself, Stiles has been reeking of Lydia. _Fuck_. Just what kind of messages have they been sending about who's important and who isn't to everyone else?

A rapid knock on the driver side window makes them both jump. "Everything okay?" Scott asks, voice muffled through the metal and glass.

"Yeah. Yeah, things are fine, dude," Stiles says, pulls his hand away from Derek without looking back at him and makes one of the least graceful exits from his jeep ever. Frankly, he's too damn tired and still achy to wait for Scott and Derek, so Stiles just marches across the parking lot and into the clinic. Chris, Lydia, Allison, and Deaton are all heading to the back room.

"Overall, how do you feel?" Deaton asks Allison.

"Like I'm drunk? I don't…I don't know how to describe it…it's incredible," Allison says, practically glowing with infectious mirth and Stiles can't help but mirror her grin.

"Endorphin rush most likely. I'm not surprised," Deaton turns and looks at Stiles with narrowed eyes. "Good of you to join us. Have a seat out front. I want to take a look at Allison."

"Sure, cool, that's…fine," Stiles says as the four of them file into the back area and close the door. Whatever. Stiles heads over to a bank of semi-comfortable chairs and dumps himself into one, his back pressed to an armrest and his legs throw over the other. He wiggles into position just as Scott and Derek finally make their way into the lobby.

"They in the back?" Scott asks.

Stiles nods. "Yeah, he's checking her out. Doing his patent pending 'Are You a Human?' test where fun questions such as 'Does she weigh the same as a duck?' will be answered."

Derek snorts. "That's only good for witches."

Stiles tips backwards over the armrest of the chair and looks at Derek upside down, wincing at the way the angle pulls his angry muscles. "Tell me I'm not the only one jonesing to quote the ‘bring out your dead’ bit right now, because legit, Allison got better..." He gets a small smile/eye roll combination form Derek and a look of confusion from Scott so the pain is mostly worth it.

"This doesn't have to do with Star Wars does it?" Scott asks and Stiles scrambles to sit upright again and look at his best friend with abject horror.

"Oh dude…no, just no…." Stiles says and clutches his hand to his heart, breaking out the dramatics in part to deflect from the way the ache that Derek helped take the edge off earlier is now returning in force. But apparently, it's not enough and Scott's eyes narrow on him.

"Derek says you're in pain," Scott says.

Stiles shakes his head no and throws on his best blasé expression. "I'm just achy man. Don't worry about it."

"Rebound," Deaton says he walks into the waiting area. Like that should explain everything. Ugh.

"And that would be what?" Stiles asks, dreading whatever vague answer they are going to get.

"Sometimes it happens when a spell is cast incorrectly, even in the best cases there's still parts of the magic that don't form properly. Excess, if you will, that twist back on the caster. Your shadows, needless to say, complicate matters. In fact, the discomfort you're feeling could stem from using them."

"How so?" Scott asks, concern etched on his face.

"The kind of shadows Lydia and Chris described seeing is rare to begin with and I've never heard of a novice magic user summoning them before."

Stiles waves his hands through the air and wiggles his fingers even though his shadows aren't present. _His_ shadows. Huh. "Where did these things even come from?"

"My guess would be remnants from when the nogitsune expelled your spirit from your body and you took your present form, which was birthed from shadows. When the Oni marked this vessel as self I suspected something like this might happen."

"And you like, didn't think it was important to say anything?" Stiles sneers.

Deaton looks at him blandly. "I fail to see what worrying you would have accomplished."

"What about the rest of us?" Derek snaps. "Maybe warn us before someone tries to rip his throat out thinking the nogitsune’s back."

"Because I wasn't certain that if shadows did manifested that they would be benign."

Stiles rolls his eyes hard. "Oh well, great. Thanks for nothing, really. It's appreciated it."

"Stiles…" Scott warns.

"Really dude, no. I'm not in the mood for this bullshit, alright?"

"I can help, you know,” Deaton says like he's completely oblivious to how much Stiles wants to punch him in the neck.

"And what kind of help might that be? ‘Cause I think we're using two wildly different definitions here."

"Given your bond with Scott and this recent manifestation of power, it's my opinion that you are growing to be a suitable emissary for the McCall Pack and I am willing to train you."

"McCall-Hale Pack," Scott interjects, his voice brooking no argument. But that doesn't stop everyone from turning to stare at him.

"What?" Derek asks, eyes wide and expression slack.

"Dude, Beacon Hills was your family's territory for generations. That deserves to be remembered and I'm not gonna let anybody forget it."

"That's very generous of you, Scott," Deaton says before Derek can say anything. Stiles is just kinda done.

"That's great that you approve. Is there anything you need me for or am I free to go?" If Stiles is being a jackass, well, he helped bring back the dead today and now he feels like he got hit by a Mack truck and all he really wants is a moderately flat surface and his pillow. Deaton looks at him, assesses and then nods. "For now. Although I do have some questions for you but those can wait."

"Awesome," Stiles says as he swings himself around and out of the chairs he'd sprawled himself across. "I'm gonna go say some g'nights or g'mornings depending on how ya look at it and then I'm out of here." Stiles snaps his fingers at Derek and holds out his hand, "Keys."

"Not a chance," Derek says as he crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"Seriously, fuck you. Hand ‘em over dude," he orders. Scott puts himself between Stiles and Derek and then rests a steady hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

"Dude, please, let Derek drive you back to your house. Do it for me, alright?" Scott practically begs, so fucking sincere it hurts. Anger, frustration, and resentment all flair and die in the span of a second before resignation takes hold and Stiles knows the parade of emotions clearly played out on his face from the way Scott is clenching his jaw and looking even more worried than he was.

“Fine, whatever,” Stiles bites out as he turns away from Scott. Noticing the door to the examination room, he pauses. Jesus Christ what is wrong with him? He may be an asshole, but he’s not going to be the jackass that shits all over the “OMFG Ally A’s Alive” party. Stiles closes his eyes and clenches his fists, forcing himself to inhale and exhale slowly. He plasters a grin on his face and pushes the door open. Allison is sitting on one of the exam tables, with Lydia sitting next to her on her right and Chris standing at her left. “So, how’s the birthday girl?” Stiles says with an enthusiasm he knows he should be feeling but isn’t.

Allison laughs and the sound really is beautiful. "I suppose I am, aren't I? Does that mean I get to celebrate twice a year?"

"Of course. You gotta pick which one you want to get presents for though. Cause double dipping just ain't fair for those of us who haven't risen from the dead."

"Don't listen to him," Lydia chimes in, "he's just being cheap."

Before Stiles can respond, Allison pulls him into a tight hug and buries her face in his neck. "Thank you," she whispers into his ear and Stiles shudders. He grips her tighter and is so very fucking thankful that he didn't get slammed with the Oni's memories too, even if the guilt of what they did under the nogitsune's command is a heavy lead weight in his chest. Finally, Stiles pulls back and lets out a shaky laugh when he realizes that he's been crying. Again. It's official, he's lost total control of everything in his life. Then Chris freaking Argent pulls him into a tight hug and back thump combo and Stiles knows he needs to get the fuck out of there. He holds Allison's hands loosely and says, “Look, I'm gonna head out. About ready to drop and all. I'll see you tomorrow though?"

"Of course," Allison replies, voice kind and understanding as she squeezes his hands tightly.

"Are you going home?" Chris asks and Stiles nods even as his stomach knots.

"Yeah. Should face Dad sooner or later before word gets out, ya know."

"Understood. Good luck," Chris says and squeezes Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles turns to Lydia to hug her goodbye, but he stops himself. She's visibly wary of him and it's like a punch to the gut, but he gets it, especially with the knowledge that Derek had thought he'd been possessed again. Stiles remembers the way Lydia'd looked at him when he had entered the circle and advanced on her and he's been able to piece together how the nogitsune treated her while wearing his skin. So, Stiles nods at her and turns away, only to have his hand caught by Allison, which she uses to pull him back into another hug. This one is tighter than the others and when she finally easies up she doesn’t let him go. Rather she cups his face and forces him to meet her eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Allison says firmly and it’s like a punch to the gut. Stiles tries to look away from her and the absolution he’ll never ever be able to earn, but she doesn’t let him turn his head and when he closes his eyes she taps his cheeks lightly with her thumbs. “I will keep telling you that for as long as it takes, until you believe it.”

“Wouldn’t hold your breath on that one,” he says. Allison gently pulls him forward and places a soft kiss on his forehead. Stiles closes his eyes shut and clenches his fists tightly because if he starts crying again, he’s not sure when he’ll stop.

Finally Allison lets him go and he back away and walks out of the room and starts winding his way back to the front of the clinic quickly as he can without running so he can escape. It's kinda funny, really. He'd somehow thought that the euphoria of bringing back Allison would have a longer shelf life, but guilt and fear are quickly eroding it.

Stiles turns the corner and is met with Derek already outside and Scott standing between them beaming, still on cloud nine to some extent and Stiles can't help but be further convinced that he is somehow broken. Scott tugging him into a tight hug and using it to do a ninja pain drain doesn't help matters. It's just another reminder of how fucked up he is.

"Consider my offer, Stiles," Deaton says just as Stiles is walking out the door, because of fucking course he has to get the last word in. Stiles doesn't even bother to turn around, just raises his hand and waves him off, because really, seriously, he's done.

"You know you don't have to be my magical designated driver anymore," he tells Derek who is leaning against Roscoe, patiently waiting. "I'm good to drive. I can even take a field sobriety test if it'd make you feel better," Stiles says going for casual and confident while hating everything and silently willing Derek to give in.

"Just get in the Jeep, Stiles," Derek replies flatly and moves to take his own advice.

"Whatever," Stiles mumbles to himself and gets in, pulls on his seatbelt, slumps down, crosses his arms in front of his chest, and stares resolutely ahead like a petulant child.

They don't talk for most of the trip, Derek because he's Derek, and Stiles out of spite. But as they come up on the last few blocks, he blurts out, "Before you start, on a good day I don't trust Deaton to give anyone all the information they need to make an informed decision so I have a hard time seeing how training under him is going to be any different."

"I agree," Derek says evenly as they turn onto Stiles' street.

Stiles narrows his eyes, dubious. "You do," he says and is met with Derek's usual silence when he doesn't feel like repeating himself. Stile huffs out an irritated breath. "But, I guess some info would be better than nothing. I'll just be a fucking four year old and ask why every five seconds and if I don't get an answer I like I'll just research the shit out of it later."

"That sounds reasonable," Derek says and it's like he's not even really paying attention.

"Good talk," Stiles says and that gets him an eye roll.

Derek parks Roscoe in the driveway next to Dad's cruiser, but doesn't make any move to get out. "The Sheriff doesn't know about the ritual does he?"

"Nope," Stiles says popping the 'p' and then winces. "He thinks Lydia and I are dating."

"Aren't you though?"

Stiles shrugs and looks straight ahead at the garage door. "Nah. It was just easier to let people think that rather than explain the whole Buffy season six thing."

"So you lied to him." The again goes unspoken.

Stiles closes clenches his eyes shut and digs his nails into the palms of his hands. "Yeah," he finally says, voice cracking.

Derek lets out an irritated huff. "He's going to ground you for life, you know."

"Hopefully."

"Hopefully?" Derek asks and Stiles doesn't need to look at Derek to know at least one of his eyebrows is raised. He opens his eyes anyway and yep, left eyebrow is up a tick.

"It's that or throw me out. I mean at what point does your kid become a lost cause, ya know?"

Derek's expression contorts into something affronted and disbelieving. "God, you're a fucking idiot."

"Figured that was pretty obvious by this point," Stiles snaps and pops to open the Jeep's door and begins to slide out, but Derek growls his name and tugs Stiles back in, turns him around, forcing Stiles to meet his blazing beta blue eyes.

"After everything, do you really believe he'd cut you loose? Christ, Stiles. Your father and Scott would do anything for you. They love you. They will never see you as a lost cause."

"Right. Great," Stiles sneers, his vision going watery and god fucking dammit of course he's crying in front of Derek. "See the problem with that, Derek, is that I don't know even who or what I am anymore. The person I was that they loved is gone. Like, I had my whole life planned out. Woo and marry Lydia, go off to college, major in something fucking awesome and be bad ass at whatever it is I chose to do and now…" Stiles swallows hard, his hands shaking and his chest is getting tighter and tighter and fuck. What the fuck is Derek's problem?

"It all feels like it belongs to a life that isn't yours anymore. And the person it did belong to is dead," Derek says what Stiles couldn't, his voice even and distant, and his expression far too relaxed for it to be anything but forced and Stiles is suddenly angry for so many things. Of fucking course Derek would understand. How many times has one Derek died and another continued living?

"So who was Derek Hale?" Stiles snaps, lashing out because all he wants to be is left alone right now and not be forced to weigh and measure the shit storm of his life against the epic tragedy that is Derek's. He doesn't expect an answer, doesn't even really want one, but Derek's always had a way of not doing what he expects and sometimes what he doesn't want but needs.

"He was just a dumb kid who was going to go to college on a basketball scholarship he didn't deserve to study linguistics so that he could help translate older magic texts before they decay to the point of being illegible," Derek says, no hurt or judgment in his voice and as fast as Stiles’ anger came on it leaves him.

What the ever-loving fuck is he doing? Stiles stares straight ahead, swallows hard and exhales shakily. "He doesn't sound that dumb," he says quietly and hopes Derek can hear the apology in it.

Derek doesn't reply, rather his gaze flick up past Stiles' and then back to his face. "The Sheriff knows we're here. And he knows about Allison."

" _What_ ," Stiles hisses and jerks back. No, no, no. This is the worst possible way this could go down.

"He just got off the phone with Chris."

" _Fuck_." Stiles inhales a harsh breath and starts to turn to get out of the jeep, but just rubber bands back to facing Derek. "I can't ever lie to my dad like this ever again and I don't think there's anything I can say to him to make him believe that, Derek."

"You're right. There isn't," Derek says gently, with more care than Stiles has ever heard from him. "It's a promise you're going to have to keep everyday for the rest of your life and maybe in time he'll buy it. But that doesn't mean he'll love you any less, Stiles."

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, anything but there's nothing to say because Derek is so very horribly right. A violent tremor rakes through him and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut so tightly his entire face pinches with the effort. With most of his sense focused inward and riding the knife edge of a panic attack, Stiles doesn't notice the way Derek's hand is smoothing up his arm until it wraps around the back of his neck and holds Stiles steady. Stiles exhales a shuddering breath and leans back into the touch, letting it ground him.

"We'll get through this. All of us. Together," Derek nearly whispers.

Stiles chokes out a laugh and finally opens his eyes again. "Dude, when did you get all smart with the feels?"

Derek rolls his eyes hard, a smirk canting up his lips as he pulls away. Stiles misses the contact instantly but then Derek's pulling the keys from the ignition and dropping them into Stiles’ lap. Stiles nods and while he and Derek may exit the Jeep at the same time, when Stiles turns to thank him, Derek's long gone. "Dude you are so not cool enough to pull a Batman on me," Stiles mutters, feigning irritation. It's probably better anyway because it forces him to take those steps up the drive and onto the porch. Before Stiles can reach for the handle to the front door though, his Dad flings it open and charges forward until he's wrapping Stiles up in a fierce embrace. Stiles just clings to him and everything is calm for a moment and then he just fucking breaks. The first sob that tears out of Stiles takes most of the strength in his legs with it, but his dad holds tight and bears his weight like he's a kid again. Like he did when he showed up at the hospital too late and Mom was long gone.

And Stiles realizes that for the first time since this nightmare began, he's crying for himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic, parts of which were inspired by "she has dirt all over her pink dress", kicks off what I've been calling the Shadowsverse which got jump started by [this freaking amazing fan art here](http://liabatman.tumblr.com/post/76854749730). As of 3b (minus the last five minutes or so of 3.24) the 'verse is canon compliant. There's a few stories I have planned out but I'm going to be bouncing around the timeline a bit. The next one that will be posted is a multi-parter, entitled "Pandora's Box," that takes place about 15 years after Loose Threads. The back of the book summary on Pandora's Box is:
> 
> It’s been almost a decade and a half since the hell that was their high school years and while growing up has been far from easy the McCall-Hale Pack has enjoyed a pretty solid stretch of peace. Scott has settled into his role as Alpha with Stiles his Emissary and Derek his right-hand. But when a call comes in late one night with news that a pack in Iowa has been massacred, old fears resurface. Stiles, Lydia, and Danny travel to the Midwest to lend aid, and what they find is far more complex than anything they could have anticipated.
> 
> Anyhoo, that should start going up in a month or so. :) If you want to keep up with what I'm up to my tumblr is: [talesfromthemek.tumblr.com](http://www.talesfromthemek.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3


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